The Protection of the Royal Navy
by Calatrice
Summary: An unprovoked attack on Dauntless has left Commodore Norrington in desperate need of help - from The Black Pearl. JackAnamaria and some WillElizabeth. R rated for gore and violence.
1. Chapter 1: On the Beach

Authors Note: The characters aren't mine and I'm just playing with them. This story takes place about a year after the events in the film.

* * *

Chapter 1 - On the Beach

The boat beached with a gentle crunch on the white sand and Jack and his crew leapt out into the warm shallows to drag it out of the reach of the sea. That accomplished, he looked around for a comfortable spot to while away the afternoon - no sense trying to work in the heat of the day and perhaps Anamaria was still feeling friendly. A couple of palm trees a few yards away were creating a tempting pool of shade over a small hollow in the sand, and that would do him, or hopefully them, nicely.

The rest of the crew scattered up and down the beach, hunting out similar spots to snooze away the long, hot afternoon. It had been a profitable voyage, with plenty of easy pickings; they had made a landing to stock up on water and such fresh food as the island could supply before returning to Tortuga, about ten days voyage away if the weather favoured them.

The _Black Pearl_ rode at anchor in the little natural harbour, nicely concealed from any passing ships by the high ridges of rock that jutted out from the island. Just in case, he'd checked carefully for any other vessels in the area and this island was well off the standard routes. The island had a spring to refill their water supply and plenty of fish in its lagoon ready to be caught for supper. Life was good. As he reached the hollow and settled down to sleep Anamaria walked over and then nestled down against him, resting her head comfortably on his shoulder, with her arm draped over his chest. Yes, life was definitely good.

He awoke a few hours later, as the air started to cool. Anamaria was still asleep so he just lay there, enjoying the sensation of her warm weight against him and squinting out at the _Pearl_, bobbing on the lagoon, beautiful in the early evening light. He'd captained other ships, plenty of them, before and after Barbosa had stuck him on that bloody island. But none of them were as good as the _Pearl_. A fiddler had once told him that every single fiddle had its own unique voice, most bad, some good and one or two with a tone so exquisite that any fool could make men weep to hear them. The _Pearl_ was like that; so swift, so responsive to the helm that sometimes he felt he hardly needed a crew, that it could be just him and the _Pearl_ out there on the wide ocean, with nothing but freedom ahead of them. 

Anamaria shifted slightly, her hand moving higher up his chest until it rested at the base of his throat. He glanced down at her fondly. Her face was relaxed in sleep, lacking the fierce expression that she habitually wore when she faced the world. A strange one she was: ruthless but loyal, managing the difficult balance between being a member of the crew and the Captain's lover with seeming ease. Even Gibbs had come to accept her as a full member of the crew, though after seeing her fight no sane man would want her on any side but his own. He'd been almost scared that day he'd seen her on the dock, lined up with the madmen and drunks that Gibbs had scraped out of Tortuga docks to crew the _Interceptor_. Anamaria was not by nature a forgiving woman, and in stealing her small boat he had dealt a severe blow to her hard-won independence. Bringing her round had taken time, patience, and more sweet talk than any five other women had ever got out of him before. Worth it though, he thought, smiling a little.

A horrible squawk right beside his ear almost made him jump out of his skin. He shot upright, dumping Anamaria in a heap on the sand, hand flying to the pistol in his belt. Then he saw what had startled him. That bloody parrot! The bird, which seemed to have excellent instincts, fluttered out of reach before he could wring its scrawny neck. He opened his mouth to yell for its owner when he spotted Cotton, labouring toward them, a worried look on his creased and weatherbeaten face. Cotton stopped a couple of feet away and began gesturing urgently, pointing at the high sand ridge which separated their beach from the next little cove on the island.

"You've found something?" Jack asked, irritably. Cotton nodded vigorously.

"Are you sure I need to see it?" Another nod.

"Are you sure that I won't kick you round the island for disturbing me for nothing once I've seen it?" Cotton's eyes flicked over to Anamaria, who hadn't bothered to get up, but was sitting sulkily on the sand trying to pull the tangles out of her hair. He grinned for a moment, which with his rotten teeth and tongueless mouth was a disturbing sight, then nodded again.

"All right, but it had better be good."

Cotton led him up the dune, to a small grass-free dip, sheltered from the sea. There were six graves, their shapes still easily discernible in the sand, which meant they were very recently dug. A couple of weeks old perhaps, but no more. A clumsy driftwood cross marked the head of each one. Judging by the faint putrid odour lingering in the air, they were a bit on the shallow side.

Cotton was looking at him expectantly.

"Look, if you think someone should go poking around in there to find out about the owners, you can do it yourself, savvy? Go and find Gibbs and tell him to get himself up here."


	2. Chapter 2: The Castaway

Chapter 2 - The Castaway

Gibbs was never happy to be woken up, especially when there was no time for a post-nap bottle or two. He stood in the hollow on the dunes and looked at the graves.

"Could be anything Captain. Fever perhaps. We'd best just leave 'em be and make for Tortuga. 'Tis fearful bad luck to be disturbing the dead."

"Yes but where did they come from you old fool?" asked Anamaria

"A ship, where else?" A great crewman Gibbs, but not the best if it was brains you were after.

"Gibbs, how long you have been a sailor?" said Jack

"Thirty years, near enough"

"And in all that time, have you ever known a ship to stop at an island and bury a bunch of folks who died on board? They died here Gibbs, or were brought here dead. By someone who cared enough to bury them, instead of leaving them for the birds."

"And what business is it of ours if they did? They're dead, poor souls, and it don't look to me as though they're going to bother us."

Jack sometimes wondered how Gibbs had survived before he joined the _Pearl_, before he had people to look after him who used their brains instead of pickling them.

"This is a good landfall Gibbs. Shelter, water and not too many folks as know about it. If someone else is starting to make themselves at home, I'd like to know who, savvy?"

Gibbs swallowed and reached for his flask. 

"You aren't going to dig 'em up are ye Jack?" he asked hoarsely. 

"No, but I want you to rouse the crew and search the island. See what else you can find. Anamaria love, you go and tell the boys on the _Pearl _what's up, then meet me back here."

"The whole island?" said Gibbs looking slightly appalled.

"It's not more than two miles across and it's hardly stuffed with good places to hide. Get on with it!"

Much as he hated naval discipline and the methods used to enforce it, Jack had to admit it had a few good points.

As Gibbs set off to organise the search, Jack settled himself down, finding a place which commanded a good view of both the _Pearl_ and the beach. The graves didn't bother him: as Gibbs had said, the occupants didn't seem the socialising sort of dead folk and he had seen enough over the years to not be unduly disturbed by the presence of a body or two.

Though the island was small, the search still took quite a time. In the first hour the team that Gibbs had assigned to search the coast turned up a small ship's boat, heavily bloodstained, but they found no sign of any occupants. Jack left Anamaria at his lookout point beside the graves and wandered along to take a look.

He smelled the boat long before he saw it. He knew that smell and it brought back a host of memories he'd much rather keep buried. The smell of a pack of men, dying by violence in a confined space. The boat was abuzz with what looked to be every fly in the whole of the Caribbean, feasting away on its crusted boards. Too much blood for one man. Maybe six would be about right.

The search party that had found the boat were clustered together a few feet away. There eyes were wide and a couple of them were obviously trying not to throw up. They led a hard life all of them, but no one needed this sort of reminder as to where that life might take them.

"Scuttle it" he said.

"Captain?"

"You heard me you dogs! Chop a hole in it, then drag it out by those rocks. What do we want it stinking the place up for?"

They scurried to comply and Jack turned to walk back to Anamaria. He was starting to feel really spooked by this. That boat looked like a slaughterhouse, but he hadn't heard word of any big engagements. They'd had contact with a fair few ships over the last couple of weeks and news of a battle normally travelled fast on the densely packed sailing routes.

Once the search of the coast had been completed with no further finds, Gibbs had his men start on the interior of the island. The soil was too thin to support more that a bit of scrub and a few palms, so the teams could quarter the ground quite quickly and effectively, without too much danger of missing anything.

The moon had risen by the time a group of crewmen approached dragging a feebly struggling figure between them. Jack straightened up a bit, so as to make an impression on their captive. If you looked fearsome enough, then they normally gave up the fight right away, saving all the bother and mess of actually doing anything.

The pirates dumped the man unceremoniously in the sand at Jack's feet. He seemed quite weak; it took him several moments to gather his breath before he hauled himself up onto his knees to look Jack in the face.

Jack jumped so violently in surprise that Anamaria caught his arm to stop him falling over.

The man kneeling before him in the sand, blistered with sunburn, hollow eyed and hollow bellied with hunger and fever, was Commodore Norrington.


	3. Chapter 3: Back on the Black Pearl

Chapter 3 - Back on the Black Pearl

Norrington knelt trembling in the sand at his feet. It should have been every pirates' dream, but it gave Jack quite a chill. 

"Are you here alone?" he asked.

Norrington blinked up at him, shaking with weariness and fever. After a few moments, in which he seemed to ponder the meaning of the question, he nodded. 

"Gibbs, stay here with the rest of the shore party. I want the supplies loaded first thing in the morning. Anamaria love, you and me are going back to the _Pearl_ with our guest."

Anamaria glared at him, opening her mouth to say something, probably a suggestion that wouldn't bode well for Norrington's health. Jack put his hands together and looked back at her with his best pleading expression. _Don't give me any trouble now_. She always said that it made him look like a kicked puppy that look, but it normally worked and it served him well now. She dragged Norrington to his feet and started in the direction of the _Pearl's _boat. The Commodore seemed completely exhausted, barely able to stand, and his weight was making her stagger. Jack moved to take the man's other arm.

When they had rowed out to the _Pearl_ they had to lower a rope and haul Norrington aboard like a sack of flour. It seemed to take an age before they had got him onto his feet again and into Jack's cabin.

Out in the moonlight Jack had seen that Norrington was thin, feverish and suffering from a severe shock. In the light of the lamps his truly pitiful condition was fully revealed. He was dressed in nothing but his underclothes, which were heavily marked with partially washed out bloodstains. The rags were stiff with salt - Norrington had obviously rinsed them in the lagoon rather than risk contaminating the spring. If the state of the boat they had found were anything to go by, the rest of his uniform had probably been past saving. The bottom half of his shirt was missing, ripped up to make clumsy bandages that encircled his left arm and chest. There was a lump the size of an egg on his temple, in the process of turning from the purple-black of a recent bruise to the yellow-green of a well-established one. Glancing down at his hands, Jack saw that they were scraped nearly raw, the fingernails ragged and bloody at the edges. He must have dug those six graves with his bare hands.

"Anamaria love, can you lend him some clothes?"

Norringon wasn't quite so far gone as he'd thought - a look of complete horror came across his face. For the first time that night Jack's face broke into a proper gold-toothed grin.

"Don't worry mate, she wears a shirt and breeches just like the rest of us. It's just that _she_ might have something clean for you."

Anamaria rolled her eyes with exasperation and disappeared for a couple of minutes back to her own cabin. She insisted on keeping her own space on the _Pearl_ and had never left so much as a scarf in Jack's quarters. She returned with a much-mended shirt and pair of breeches that she dumped on the table. With one quick contemptuous glare at the two men she turned on her heel and stormed off, slamming the door on the way out, just to make her point. At least she hadn't hit him yet.

"You know, for a fine upstanding officer of His Majesty's Navy, you don't make a very good impression on women."

The ghost of a smile touched Norringon's face for a second. Perhaps he was coming out of it a bit.

"All right, I think I'd better have a word with my first mate, so I'll leave you for a bit. There's water in the jug there and you can help yourself to a tot if you want a composer." Jack rose and left the Commodore to his own devices. No harm in leaving him unwatched with the state the man was in.

Anamaria was standing at the helm staring out across the lagoon towards the open sea. She must have heard him approach but steadfastly refused to look at him. He walked up behind her and slid his arms gently around her middle, holding her close.

"He would have hanged you. He's tried it twice and he'll do it if we give him another chance."

"He's a naval officer love and I'm a pirate. It's the way of the world. In fact, if he'd only had the sense to be a merchant, I think we could have been the best of friends. Really I do." He stuck his head on her shoulder. _Please forgive me love._

"If he'd been a merchant then it would be his cargoes we're stealing" she pointed out.

"True love, but I reckon it's a privilege many are proud of, to be robbed by Captain Jack Sparrow. Shows they're men of substance, savvy?"

She snorted derisively but the tension started to leave her and he could sense he'd won this battle, at least for now.

"He's had a bit of time to clean himself up. Let's go back and see what he has to say for himself."


	4. Chapter 4: Norrington's Story

Chapter 4 - Norrington's Story

Norrington had washed and changed into the fresh clothes. He was sat slumped at the table with Jack's bottle of rum by his elbow. He looked a lot steadier than he had before, which probably meant that the bottle was a lot emptier than it had been. 

There were all kinds of ways that Jack knew to get people to talk. Some were friendly, others were, well, best used in emergencies. Sometimes it was best to just start simple.

"What happened?" he asked, drawing up a chair opposite the Commodore. Anamaria, who knew her business in this sort of affair, sat down in the corner, so that Norrington could just focus on Jack. 

Norrington poured himself another tot of rum and downed it in a gulp. After a brief pause to let it settle, he began.

"We set sail in the _Dauntless_ on the twentieth of July, just for a routine patrol. I don't know how long ago that was."

"It's the sixteenth of August today" replied Jack "so that's" He gave up trying to work it out in his head and started to count on his fingers.

"Twenty eight days" muttered Anamaria.

"Quite right love. Twenty eight days."

"We had good weather for the first three days and just before sunset on the third day we caught sight of a buccaneer a mile or so off our starboard bow. We gave chase and followed them for the next day and a half, got quite close on a couple of occasions, but they lost us in some shoals."

"Did you see the name of the ship?"

"Clementina"

"Aye, I know the one. Captain Shawcross - good pirate. You aren't the first played for a fool in that spot."

Norrington glared, showing a bit of his normal character for the first time.

"I'm sorry Commodore. Please go on"

"I'd just given the order to head about and return to our patrol area when the wind started to pick up. Within a couple of hours it was a full gale and I decided to just ride it out. By the time the wind dropped, about two days later, we were well out of our normal waters and had lost track of our position."

"What direction do you reckon you'd been heading?" A ship lost at sea could meet with some nasty accidents thought Jack, but not many of them so deadly as the one that had afflicted the _Dauntless_.

"North west. We were heading back towards home when the lookout spotted two ships close together a couple of miles away. One of them was a Navy vessel and there was no sign of hostilities on either side. I hoped that they could give us a precise location for our navigation, so we set course for them." 

Jack started to feel cold. He had a horrible idea that he knew where this might be headed. Norrington had started to shake again. He picked up the bottle, but couldn't hold his hand steady enough to pour a tot. Jack took the bottle off him and did it for him. 

Norrington sank the measure and continued.

"We were flying colours, they could see who we were. I never saw the name of the second ship, because naturally we approached the naval vessel. She was a ship of the line, First Rate, the _Vigilance_."

Jack looked at Anamaria for a second. She was sitting frozen with shock in the corner.

"Everything seemed quite normal until we came alongside, no sign that anything was amiss from the men on deck, then they fired all their port guns. _Dauntless _never stood a chance against a First Rate ship at that range. She must have taken five or six holes below the water line and she started to sink immediately."

"I took the only course of action, gave the order to abandon ship. We managed to launch three boats before _Dauntless_ went down, enough for the men who managed to make it to the deck. They waited until we were in the boats, with nowhere left to hide, and then they started to fire their muskets."

The Commodore fell silent and put his head into his hands. Jack stared across at Anamaria again. They had heard quite a bit about the _Vigilance_ and her captain, but nothing to indicate that he would go this far. Jack could remember a time or two, fighting in close quarters, where things had got bad, very bad indeed, but nothing like this tale. _Thank God_. No matter how he tried he could not shake the images from his mind, those poor sods, crammed in together as the musket fire slammed in to them. Most of them wouldn't have been able to swim, even if the first volley had spared them to try it.

"I hit my head on the gunwale when my arm was hit and I don't know any more until I came around. I suppose they thought I was dead like the rest. Douglas, my midshipman had taken a bullet through the lung and he fell against me when he was hit. So much blood He was only seventeen. This was his first real posting."

It always felt worse when they were young, thought Jack. As though dying should be less painful somehow for an old man, just because he had longer to work up to it.

"I have no idea what happened to the other two boats, but I was the only survivor in mine. I was feverish from the wounds and the oars were gone. It seemed as though I drifted for days before I washed up on the island. I managed to drag myself out of the boat and find some fresh water. After that I was ill. There was nothing I could do; until you found me."

_Best not to mention the graves._ If it really had been a couple of days in the boat, under a tropical sun, before they had washed ashore, then the condition of those men when they finally got buried was not something Norrington would want to remember. It seemed typical of the man that he had tried to give his fellows a proper burial. No one would have blamed him, or even known, if he had just sent them out into the lagoon for the fishes.

The story seemed to have come to an end, and for once in his life Jack was stuck for something to say. He was rescued by the rum. Norrington had worked his way through the whole bottle in the course of his narrative and now he had reached the conclusion, he surrendered to its effect, put his head down on the table and slept.

* * *

Authors Notes:

This is the chapter that made me up the rating to "R". I'm British and in the UK censors tend to have a much stricter attitude to violence than to sex or language, so I thought I'd be cautious. I hope I got it right!

A "First Rate" ship was the type of warship that carried the most cannon (100 or more). I may be cheating a bit to have such a large ship in the area to do the dastardly deed, but the Caribbean was the scene of a lot of naval activity in the 17th Century, so I hope I can get away with it. I couldn't find any mention of a Royal Navy ship called Vigilance, but if there was (or is) one, then no offence is intended.


	5. Chapter 5: Journey to Tortuga

Chapter 5 - Journey to Tortuga

Norrington was not an experienced drinker, as Jack discovered the following morning. Sipping wine and toasting the king in the Officer's Mess did not prepare the unfortunate Commodore for the after effects of sinking a quart of contraband rum on an empty stomach. The lingering after-effects of sunstroke, exhaustion and his wounds probably hadn't helped either. The leeward rail was the best friend he had for quite a while.

Jack was less concerned with Norrington's sufferings than with his own. Anamaria had not been softened even a little by last night's account of the treachery and butchery that befell _Dauntless_ and her crew. The Navy was the enemy of all pirates and she had heard nothing to change that fundamental fact of their lives. He knew he'd best stay away from her when she was in that mood. She would calm down, some day, but there would be no more afternoons whiled away in her arms until she did.

They had set sail for Tortuga less than an hour after sunrise. Gibbs might have been galvanised into action by Jack's decisive orders, but it seemed far more probable that superstitious dread had made the old fool get a move on for once. The wind was favouring them, the _Pearl_ was in fine fettle and Jack thought that they should make excellent time.

"A word Jack?" It was Gibbs, flask clasped nervously in his hand.

"What?"

Gibbs took another swig to fortify himself.

"What are you going to do with him?"

No need to ask who _him_ was supposed to mean.

"Nothing"

Gibbs just stood there, shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot. Why did people always want an explanation? He was Captain Jack Sparrow, surely that should be enough for anyone.

"We are sailing to Tortuga, where there will be good times and grog shops and plenty of easy company, enough even for you. The Commodore is on the ship and therefore he will also end up in Tortuga, where he will probably write a stern letter to the Admiralty about the moral depravity of free ports. What he does after that is his own affair, savvy?"

"What if he makes trouble?"

"On his own? In Tortuga?" Maybe Will Turner was right and all pirates were mad, stupid or both. All _other_ pirates of course.

"Gibbs, I have some important advice for you." Jack leaned in close to his henchman.

"Yes, Jack?"

"If we get to Tortuga and Norrington tells you you're under arrest, don't go with him."

* * *

Once he began to feel better, Norrington did not seem to enjoy travelling on the _Pearl_. The informal relationship between Jack and sat uneasily with a man used to the instant obedience engendered by harsh naval discipline. There was precious little to occupy his time, since the few books on board did not meet with his approval, and he was unused to enforced idleness. Most men would have at least taken comfort from the enormous amount of rum on board, but the Commodore seemed to have rather lost his taste for it.

Norrington's biggest problem was Anamaria. He seemed to view women as falling naturally into one of two groups: ladies from polite society who were to be treated with the respect due to them on appropriate social occasions; and absolutely all other women, from whores to governesses, who could be ignored. Anamaria was not a lady and certainly not polite, especially to the Commodore, but it was impossible for a naval officer not to take an interest in the person steering the ship. The fact that she was _allowed_ to steer the ship seemed to violate one of his most sacred principals. For a while, he hovered anxiously, quite obviously ready to grab the wheel when disaster resulted from the lunatic policy of letting a woman take the helm. His mistake was to stray within reach of Anamaria while he was doing that.

The thud that Norrington made when he hit the deck was truly impressive. He apparently had no idea how hard a woman could hit you when she was really angry. Jack raised his eyes heavenward for a moment and then sauntered over to the Commodore, who was still lying on the deck, nursing his jaw. Jack, wise in the ways of angry women in general and angry Anamaria in particular, stayed well out of range.

"I don't think you're wanted mate" he told the aggrieved Norrington.

"That goes for you too! Stay out of my way" snarled Anamaria. 

She looked beautiful when she went fierce like that, but he preferred his guts on the inside, so trying something was not a good idea. He hauled Norrington to his feet and escorted him away from the helm.

"Why do you allow that _harpy_ on board?" demanded Norrington, as he tenderly investigated whether his teeth had been loosened.

"She's good" Jack said simply. Anamaria had excellent hearing; if he played it right he might be able to turn her up sweet again.

"I'm sure she is, but can't you leave her ashore?"

"I meant that she's a good pirate. I'm surprise to hear a gentleman like you cast doubt on a lady's reputation." Jack snuck a quick look over his shoulder. Anamaria was still scowling at them, but the tiniest suspicion of a smile had appeared on her face.

"This from the man I twice discovered in a compromising position with my fiancee" said Norrington witheringly.

"What! No, you've got the wrong man, it must be all that sun, making you see things." Time to stroll very casually down the deck. Anamaria didn't need to hear this part, although whoever the lady was, it was a mystery to Jack. Couldn't have been that good.

"I am referring to Miss Swann" said Norrington coldly.

"Who? Oh _Elizabeth_. No, nothing happened there mate, I swear it."

"Nothing happened, but on two separate occasions she had mysteriously mislaid her dress."

"She must have had three petticoats on, at least. Nothing worth getting excited about, only getting her dress off! Besides, we neither of us stood a chance there mate, not with young William on the scene."

Norrington glowered, but then he had good reason, thought Jack. Just because the man had nobly stood aside and let true love have its way, it didn't mean he had to be happy about it as well.

* * *

"Norrington, can I have a word?" Jack asked quietly.

The Commodore had been standing at the prow, looking towards Tortuga. They were about an hour out and the crew were like children impatient for a treat, hardly able to contain their excitement. When Norrington looked up, Jack gestured towards his cabin.

They seated themselves at opposite sides of the table. It was eerily reminiscent of the night that Norrington had recounted the story of the _Dauntless'_ final voyage, although sadly there was no rum this time.

"It's " Jack swallowed - this was harder than he thought it would be. "It's about the _Vigilance_"

The transformation that came over the man opposite was almost frightening. Jack had never seen a man so ready to commit murder, and the Commodore's eyes _burned_.

"Go on" said Norrington softly.

"Captain Hollowell has a hand in most of the piracy that goes on in his patrol area."

"He's a pirate?"

"No, not exactly. He knows which ships have the best cargoes, because he gets all the harbourmasters' reports. He sells that to the buccaneers, tells them when and where to hit. For twenty percent of the take, he'll arrange that the Navy is always patrolling somewhere else."

"But he's taken more pirates than any captain in the Caribbean. Ships have a better chance of sailing through his waters safe than anywhere else" said Norrington.

"Oh yes, he's taken plenty of pirates. Hanged plenty of lost fishermen too, when he couldn't get anyone else to 'make an example of'. He doesn't like to share his territory - things get very nasty if you don't play his game and there isn't a port down there that isn't full of his spies. And he keeps a very careful limit on what he takes, so as to not give the game away."

"But why attack _Dauntless_?"

Jack shrugged and wished he had some rum.

"I'd guess you interrupted one of his collections. He couldn't risk that you'd seen the other ship clearly and identified her as a buccaneer. Wouldn't want that story going back to the Admiralty, would he?"

"Do you deal with him?" Norrington's voice was still soft, but Jack had the sense that things would go very badly if his answer wasn't the right one.

"No mate, I swear it. I don't work for anyone" there was a patch of new planking on the starboard side of the _Pearl _from when he'd tried explaining that to Hollowell. They'd been lucky to get out of that one.

Apparently Norrington was satisfied with this answer and he seemed to have run out of questions. Jack watched him warily for a few moments, but the Commodore seemed lost in thought. Uneasily wondering when the resulting storm would break, Jack left the cabin and went to supervise the _Pearl's _arrival at Tortuga. 


	6. Chapter 6: Tortuga Day and Night

Chapter 6 - Tortuga Day and Night

Tortuga dockside was dedicated to providing everything a returning sailor had been dreaming of, which meant that whores, cheap drink and a place to flop between sessions of whoring and drinking pretty much covered the facilities on offer. Jack strolled through the crowded streets, trying to stay out of the overflowing mess of the gutters and keeping an amused eye on his companion. Norrington walked beside him, his face a rigid mask of disgust. He looked so forbidding that even the most optimistic girls tried their luck elsewhere, which generally meant Jack.

"Not me love, I've business to see to" he smiled as he turned down another pouting doxy.

"Later then?"

"Who knows love, maybe it is my lucky night" he gave her a small bow and swaggered on.

"Charming company you keep, Sparrow"

"It never hurts to be nice Commodore. It may come in handy some day" he replied. The fewer girls in Tortuga who wanted to slap his face, the better.

They had been walking steadily uphill, away from the docks. The further they got, the broader, cleaner and emptier the streets became. After ten minutes walk, the district they were in could have passed for any of the poorest parts of Port Royal. Another five minutes and the street was neatly cobbled and lined with trees, which provided a welcome shade for their path. The houses were large, freshly whitewashed and looked expensively fitted out. Norrington looked about with surprise.

"Didn't think there were any fancy bits to Tortuga did you?"

"No. Why on earth would anyone live here who can afford to be anywhere else?"

"Well, some of 'em have a small matter of a death warrant or three, but mostly they live here because they own all the bits of Tortuga that Tortuga is famous for." When all was said and done, Tortuga worked just like everywhere else. Who ever heard of a landlord that lived in his own slum?

"Where are you taking me?"

"I told you. I know a safe place where you can stay. Right here, in fact" replied Jack, leading the way up a straight path made of crushed shells.

Instead of going to the front door, Jack led the way down the side of the house. The sound of swords clashing was coming from the yard at the back. Jack reached the yard and stopped to watch.

Will Turner, the finest swordsmith, and arguably finest swordsman, in the Caribbean was giving his wife her daily lesson. He had, Jack knew, been quite reluctant at first to teach Elizabeth swordplay, but it seemed that the lass could be most persuasive when she had a mind. And of course, once he was committed to something, Will would be most conscientious in pursuit of it. 

Elizabeth was clad in a simple shirt and breeches, which seemed to fit her very well indeed. All this exercise she was getting had certainly done her no harm. Her hair was tied back in a plain braid and her face was slightly flushed from her exertions. _Very nice_.

Norrington made a move, obviously about to call attention to himself. Jack put out a hand to stop him.

"We should keep quiet. Dangerous to interrupt when they're concentrating" he whispered. It was perfectly true that a momentary lapse in attention could be dangerous, even in a practice bout, but he also wasn't averse to standing and watching Will and Elizabeth battle it out to the finish. _Was she that trim when we were on the island together?_

Elizabeth was fighting valiantly - she had reached a standard that would make her more than a match for most locals, whose knowledge of swords was limited to which end to stick in the other man. Will however was a master and when he decided to press an attack Elizabeth was forced to steadily give ground. Jack watched with interest as Will forced his wife back, pace after pace until her shoulders were pressed against the stone wall of the yard. A practised flick of his sword sent her weapon spinning from her hand. Will moved in and grasped her wrists, pressing them lightly against the stones. Elizabeth stood looking up at him, a slight smile on her face, gaze locked with his. He moved even closer, crushing her body against the wall with his own.

Norrington coughed loudly. _Bloody spoilsport _thought Jack.

Will turned his head for a moment and saw that it was Jack. He grinned then turned back to his wife. Dropping his sword with a clatter, he bent his head and pressed his lips to hers. After a moment he released her right hand and she slipped her arm over his shoulder, hand at the back of his head, fingers twining through his soft brown curls. Will's free hand ran lightly over her ribs, coming to rest on her hip, pulling her forward, tighter against his own body. 

Jack stood there and watched, grinning in frank enjoyment. _Looks like he's got over that problem with wooing her anyway._ Norrington looked as though he was about to collapse with shock at the indecency of the pair.

The kiss lasted quite some time but eventually the couple separated and turned their attention to the visitors. Both of them seemed rather more flushed from the romance than from the swordplay.

"Jack, it's wonderful to see you. Did the _Pearl _have a good voyage?" Will's opening pleasantries were interrupted by Elizabeth. 

"Commodore?" She gasped, staring at Norrington. 

* * *

Jack returned to the _Pearl_ that evening, feeling thoroughly content with life. He had settled the Commodore with the Turners, so that was one problem he was well shot of. Will and Elizabeth had insisted he stay for dinner, which had turned out to be a truly magnificent meal, complete with fine imported wines that had driven any thought of the waterfront dives from his mind. They were doing well for themselves those two - there was a great demand for Will's swords in Tortuga , and no one cared about any supposed difference in social standing between the pair of them. Yes, they were far happier here than they had been in Port Royal.

He stepped onto the _Pearl's _deck, and paused for a moment to give the railing a friendly pat. _I'm home love_. Humming tunelessly and feeling pleasantly light-headed from the wine, he headed into his cabin. 

Even before he lit the lamp, he knew she was there. There was a subtle fragrance that hung about her, from the herbs she used to keep the moths from her clothes chest and the pomade she used to dress her hair. As the flame caught, he saw her, standing a couple of feet away. The golden light touched her cheekbones with copper and revealed deep bronze glints in her hair. She was so beautiful.

"Ana" she stopped him, stepping close and placing a single finger on his lips. He caught his breath for a moment, then kissed her fingertip, very softly, keeping his eyes on her face all the while. She smiled and let the finger trace over the line of his lips, moving up to caress his cheek. He leant his head into the touch like a cat begging to be stroked. Her hand stole from his cheek to tangle its fingers in his long hair, then she pulled his head down to meet her upturned lips.

His arms slid around her holding her tight against his chest. Breaking the kiss at last he let his lips run a trail of kisses down the side of her neck, coming to rest at the open collar of her plain cotton shirt. He nuzzled there against her collarbone for a moment, drinking in the warmth of her, the scent. Her hand tugged insistently at his hair, demanding another kiss, which he was only too ready to deliver. He felt her pluck the hat from his head and heard it hit the floor as it went spinning into the shadows. He grinned, then stooped and swept her up into his arms.

"Jack!" she said, glaring at him, half angry, half laughing. She would have carried on talking but he kissed her again to silence her. She was a strong woman, but not very heavy for all that. He whirled her around recklessly, laughing as her foot caught a stack of papers and sent the fluttering to the floor.

"Put me down you fool" she gasped as she freed her lips from his from a moment.

"Whatever you say darling" he responded , depositing her carefully on the bunk. He kicked off his boots and shrugged out of his long coat, then lay down beside her, squashed enticingly against her body by the narrowness of the space. His hand found her waist and slipped up under her shirt, caressing the warm smoothness of her back, pausing to explore a tiny ridged scar where a sailor had caught her with a knife the year before. She sighed and shifted a little, encouraging him to continue stroking her. Her hand was working at the buttons of his shirt. He growled contentedly as her fingers stole beneath the cloth to stroke his chest. 

_I love it when she forgives me_, he thought.


	7. Chapter 7: Lies

Author's Notes: I hope you are enjoying it so far. Many thanks to Iblis, Jehan's Muse, Arym, Addicted and Calendar for the kind reviews - very encouraging and much appreciated. 

* * *

Chapter 7: Lies

Jack left Anamaria lazing in his bed the next morning as he went to pick up some fresh bread for their breakfast. Not the sort of thing he would normally bother with, but somehow the thought of her lying there all warm and contented, waiting for _him_, made it seem worth the bother. Will teased him about that, talking about the reforming influence of a good woman, but somehow he never seemed to say so when Anamaria might overhear.

The docks hadn't really begun to stir yet - all that cheap rum didn't make for early rising, but old Agnes was there in her grubby little shop, setting out the first batch of bread. She'd been running the place for years, God knows how old she was. The old salts' gossip said that once she had been another working girl touting for business on the waterfront, until she had taken up with a Captain, now long-dead, who had been persuaded to part with the capital to set up the shop.

"Morning Agnes my darling, one loaf if you please" he gave her his best gold-toothed grin. Years of living with the ups and downs of pirate finances had given him a strong desire to stay on the good side of every trader in Tortuga.

"Sixpence" she said, baring a fearsome set of gums in what passed for a return smile. She made no move to hand over the bread until he'd shown her the coins - the traders had developed a few survival techniques of there own.

"Ta, love" she said in her cracked voice as she pocketed the money. "I hear you did us all a favour, this last trip."

"Always keen to do my civic duty love" he said automatically. People were always congratulating you after a successful voyage, nothing new in that.

"The _Pearl's_ a good ship, always said so."

"Fastest in the Caribbean" he nodded. It was never hard to persuade him to sing his darling's praises.

"But it must have taken a deal of luck for you to sink the _Dauntless_" she said, then cackled with laughter. "I'd have given a fair bit to see that bastard Norrington get what was coming to him."

"Where'd you hear about _Dauntless_?" he asked cautiously. Maybe she was just getting a bit peculiar in the head, the way old folk sometimes did.

"It's all over town love. They say you caught her with a fireboat when she was riding at anchor. That's right ain't it?"

"Thanks for the bread love" he said, and bolted back to the _Pearl_.

Anamaria was not best pleased when he made her get up and hustled her off the ship. Her plan for the morning had certainly not included a brisk walk up the hill.

"Why can't we stop for breakfast, at least?" she protested, almost having to run to keep up.

"No time. Will and Elizabeth will have something to share anyway" he glanced down and saw that he still had the loaf he'd bought in his hand. "You can have a bit of this if you want."

"Dry bread?" she was looking at him as though he was some nasty crawling insect again. "Six weeks at sea and you offer me dry bread on our first day back in port!"

_I should have known it was too good to last_, he thought mournfully, contemplating the way this morning should have gone. Hours and hours with nothing that needed to be done, except lazing about and keeping each other company. Very close company, for preference.

_Bloody Norrington, I'm sure this is all his fault somehow_.

They were within sight of the Turners' house when he saw Will hurrying down the hill towards them, looking worried.

"Morning mate, were you looking for us by any chance?" Jack asked. 

Will nodded. "Why is everyone saying that you sank the _Dauntless_?"

* * *

"Look, it's daft. Norrington was _there_ damn it! And we weren't."

The five of them, Jack, Anamaria, Will, Elizabeth and Norrington were sat in the Turners' parlour for this impromptu council. Norrington was withdrawn, staring at the floor; he looked to Jack like a man who couldn't take much more.

"It couldn't be that someone mistook another ship for the _Pearl_?" asked Elizabeth hopefully. She was trying to be sensible, looking for a nice easy explanation.

"If they couldn't tell the difference between _The Black Pearl_ and a one hundred and fourteen canon First Rate Royal Navy warship, then they must be stone blind as well as stupid." Jack responded. "Anyway, there wasn't anyone to see."

"Except Hollowell and his friends" Anamaria pointed out.

"Yes, but why would he want to start these rumours" Will began.

"Commodore, what would happen if the Navy were told that pirates sank _Dauntless_ and massacred the whole crew?" asked Elizabeth. 

Norrington took a moment to rouse himself sufficiently to answer.

"The Navy would respond. Send a fleet to capture the _Pearl _and any port that allowed her to dock. Every ship that could be spared for hundreds of miles would be diverted to the task and they wouldn't stop until every pirate in the Caribbean was on a gibbet."

Norrington didn't seem overly bothered by this grim prophecy, but then perhaps it was the sort of thing he really wanted to see. His four companions found it a much less pleasant possibility.

"And if they do wipe out every independent buccaneer, our mate Hollowell will have killed off all his competition. Nice plan, for him" concluded Jack glumly. 


	8. Chapter 8: Unholy Alliance

Chapter 8 - Unholy Alliance

The five of them sat in the Turners' front parlour, gloomily contemplating their situation. Elizabeth, who still clung to some of the customs she had been drilled in as a child, had made them all tea. Jack could never understand why the gentry thought that a nice cup of tea was the answer to all of life's problems - tell a squire that his house had burned down and chances were he'd ask for an extra lump of sugar to help with the shock. The tea had come in a proper bone china pot and had been poured carefully into matching cups, with saucers of course. She'd even set out sugar tongs and a little plate of biscuits, bless her. He held his cup carefully, worried he might break the damned thing and spoil her set.

"So what now?" asked Will.

"I must return to Port Royal, to lay charges" responded the Commodore. "If I set out immediately then within six weeks I can have Hollowell under arrest."

"How's that then?" said Jack mildly. Will, Elizabeth and the Commodore stared at him blankly - only Anamaria seemed to have spotted the gaping hole in Norrington's suicidal scheme, but she just raised her eyes heavenwards and kept her peace. "Were you expecting him to come quietly? He has you outgunned with _Vigilance_, no matter how many marines you can raise at Port Royal."

"I can call on other Captains."

"He has a bigger ship, he's older than you and he's the son of a Viscount. Do you really think they're going to take your word over his?"

Norrington scowled. "So you think I should just go back to Port Royal and hope that he leaves me be? Forget my crew and allow that swine to continue his murderous little scheme?"

"No, but think about it mate, you need evidence, hard evidence."

"Where do you suggest I get that?"

"Fort James would be your best bet, I'm thinking. He's bound to have account books - you Navy types write everything down."

"Sparrow, can you not hold on to an idea for _one moment_? First you tell me it's too dangerous to return to Port Royal, and now I'm supposed to march into Fort James and demand Hollowell hands over his personal ledgers?"

How on earth did any Naval officers live long enough to be made Admirals? All this duty and gentlemanly behaviour softened their brains, for sure. "I didn't say to go in while he was there, mate. First you get him away from the fort, _then_ you march in and demand his books from whatever poor sod he left behind, savvy?"

* * *

Hauling the crew out of their various Tortuga boltholes and back onto the _Black Pearl_ took the whole of the rest of the day. They were none of them best pleased to be leaving so soon and the sight of Norrington striding up the gangplank as though he owned the ship was hardly a help. They finally slipped anchor about midnight, just in time to catch the tide.

The Commodore had been horrified to find that the Turners were to accompany them. Jack wasn't sure whether it was the fact that Elizabeth was happy to travel on the _Pearl,_ or if he was still uncomfortable in her company now that she had married Will. When he discovered that the pair shared a cabin (for a lady, in Norrington's, world should _always_ have her own private room) he was absolutely mortified. The Commodore didn't seem to have much understanding of women - he still seemed to think that Elizabeth, as a well born lady, was a delicate creature, pure of thought, who needed to be sheltered from the harsh truths of the world. That marriage would have been a total bloody disaster, even if William had never been born.

The surly behaviour of Jack's crew did not escape the notice of an experienced officer like Norrington. He hung around on deck, his supercilious gaze seeming to see every humiliating moment as Jack jollied the men along with fine talk of rich pickings on the return voyage from Jamaica. He even tried sweet talking Cotton's bloody parrot - bad move that - the thing had a bite that would do credit to a shark. He'd finally had enough one evening four days out when he'd spent an irritating half hour trying to make conversation the men on watch and got nothing but non-committal grunts in return. Talking to himself was something Jack was pretty good at, but doing it in company was not a rewarding experience. Nobody he had ever met, in all his voyages, could sulk like a crew of pirates deprived of promised shore leave (not even that lass in Singapore, whatever her name had been).

He walked over to the Commodore "I need a word with you." Norrington raised an eyebrow and stayed where he was. Jack stepped in closer, something he knew made the other man acutely uncomfortable. "My cabin. Now."

A few moments later they were facing each other, either side of that same battered old table. The atmosphere this time was decidedly frosty.

"Stay out of my way" Jack said softly. It had been a long day, hell a long _month_.

"Having trouble with your crew, are you? Well, I suppose it's not the first time" Norrington stood there in Will Turner's borrowed jacket, bereft of his ship, his crew and quite possibly his command. And yet he _still _managed to sound so scornful. Just another damned Navy officer, secure in his power and his wealth and his breeding, no matter that it was the threat of the noose and the lash that kept him safe.

It must have been the drink, or the lack of it, but something just snapped in Jack's head. The next thing he knew, he had Norrington pinned by his throat against the bulkhead. Norrington's eyes were wide and his face grew red, then started to turn purple as he fought for breath. He scrabbled desperately at Jack's hand but was unable to loosen the fingers clamped around his throat. Jack slowly raised his hand, lifting the other man onto his tiptoes as he gasped frantically for air. It was quite interesting really - the edges of the world seemed to have taken on a red glow and in the centre of his vision was the Commodore's frantic face, eyes bulging, a vein in his forehead throbbing rapidly. Jack had never seen anyone strangle to death. He wondered idly how long would it take.

A torrent of lukewarm water hit Jack in the side of the face. He was so surprised that he let go of Norrington, who promptly collapsed against the wall in a wheezing heap. Jack turned round, furious, ready to tear the person who had interrupted him apart.

It was Elizabeth. She stood there still holding the now-empty jug, looking at him with a mixture of fury and fear.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" she shouted.

* * *

Author's Note: Well I didn't think that Jack and Norrington could travel around together indefinitely without things coming to a head at some point. The next chapter will reveal why Jack has such a hatred of Naval discipline


	9. Chapter 9: Son of a Gun

Chapter 9 - Son of a Gun

Norrington sprawled on the floor where the bloody pirate had dropped him, tenderly investigating the bruises on his throat. Over the last few weeks he had grown accustomed to Sparrow, even if he didn't like him any better. The fellow always played the fool, seemed half-incapable from drink most of the time. It was so easy to forget that his dangerous reputation had been well earned and that an alarming number of the stories about him were perfectly true.

Mr Turner and Anamaria had been attracted by the commotion. They stood beside Elizabeth, all of them fussing around Sparrow, asking him what had happened and whether _he_ felt all right. _Not a word or a glance spared for the victim of the piece_, Norrington noted bitterly.

Suddenly Sparrow appeared in front of him. "I beg your pardon Commodore" he said, reaching out a hand to help Norrington to his feet. Norrington ignored the hand and glared at his attacker. The pirate just stood there, hand extended, a ridiculous expression of contrition on his face.

"Beg!" the word emerged as a sort of strangled squeak from Norrington's poor crushed vocal chords. He cleared his throat and tried again, "Beg pardon? For trying to kill me!"

"Ah, well I really am sorry about that mate" Sparrow said, leaning forward, grabbing Norringtons arm and hauling him to his feet. "I lost track for a moment there. I swear it doesn't happen often."

"You mean you make a habit of throttling people in a fit of rage?" asked Norrington witheringly. 

"No mate, not at all" a gleam of mischief crept into the black-rimmed eyes "Actually I tried to drown the last feller". Sparrow glanced over his shoulder at Mr Turner "It was Bootstrap stopped me that time. Always keeping me out of trouble, your father."

_Turner's father was a pirate?_ Norrington pondered this surprising scrap of information. The Governor had certainly managed to keep that tidbit out of the gossip going round Port Royal about his son-in-law.

"Yes, but _why_ did you do it Jack?" if Elizabeth had ever looked at him with half so much concern or compassion, then he would count himself a happily married man this day.

The pirate looked nervous, haunted almost. A man who had stood on the gallows, as relaxed and smiling as if he were facing nothing more distressing than a walk in the park, suddenly seemed withdrawn. For once in his life it looked as though Sparrow had finally run out of chatter.

Sparrow looked around the cabin. Four people surrounded him, all of them obviously in need of an answer. He sighed and rubbed his face, then went to a drawer and fished out yet another of his seemingly endless store of bottles. He took a long pull at the rum. _The man's throat must be like a lead pipe, the way he swills that stuff._

Sparrow drew up a chair and gestured to the rest of them to do likewise. Once they were all seated he took another pull at the rum. The pirate seemed to be breathing rather fast and Norrington noticed that the rum in the bottle sloshed as his hand trembled. Sparrow seemed to have noticed him noticing - the pirate put his hands flat on the table before beginning his story.

"Discipline. That's what makes the Royal Navy what it is. The cat-o'-nine-tails and the noose." Norrington opened his mouth in protest - he prided himself on running fine, tight ships through firm, fair leadership and instilling loyalty in his men. Jack held up a hand to forestall him "Oh, not you Commodore, I'll give you that. But you must admit you've many a brother captain who runs his ship on fear." That was true enough - no profession was without its villains and incompetents and the Navy was no exception to the rule.

"I was born on a Navy ship. No, I bet none of you had heard that one. A true child of His Majesty's Royal Navy, a son-of-a-gun. HMS Sparrow, a worm-ridden old frigate at the end of her days, patrolling the Caribbean for rum-runners round Jamaica-way."

"My mother was she was a good girl. Never did no one any harm. She took very good care of me, did the best she could. I was the only one she had see, that lived. She liked children." Another pull at the bottle, even longer this time. "But one day, she fell foul o' the Captain. Captain Ashe. Fancied himself a hard man he did. Keep 'em in line, make 'em know their place, only thing they understand is the lash - you know the sort." _I do indeed_, thought Norrington. The cabin seemed to have got much smaller and darker somehow. He never thought he would see such pain on Sparrow's face, or hear such distress in that ridiculous rum-hoarsened voice.

"Ten lashes he said. He must've known she'd never stand it. She wasn't strong - touch of the consumption maybe, and she was about seven months gone. Made her sick a lot that one - she never had an easy time with the childbearing." _Please, God, no_. Norrington had to unclench his fists. The women who seemed to worm their way into every nook and cranny of the Navy's ships were a constant challenge to discipline and to the moral welfare of the crews, but surely no man could be so barbaric as to have an expectant mother flogged?

"He had her cut down after five - even his officers looked sick and they were no credit to the Service themselves. But it was too late - she didn't last the night." Sparrow's voice had dwindled almost to a whisper "There was so much blood."

"The next time we was in port, I left the ship. Never went back. She went down with all hands nine months later, in a storm."

"And Ashe with her?" Norrington asked in a grim voice.

"No mate, he never made it that far. He died in a battle with a French privateer, about two weeks after I jumped ship. Funny thing - only one shot fired in the whole battle, or so I heard. Hit him right in the back."

"Good" It was only when he saw his companions' astonished faces that Norrington realised he'd said that aloud. He looked Jack straight in the eye. "You fight the Navy, Sparrow, or run from it; but it's my home."

* * *

Author's Notes: The Royal Navy really did have several ships called HMS Sparrow (although the references I've found are to 18th and 19th century vessels - too late for Jack to have been born on. There might well have been one in the 17th century though, as the Navy tends to reuse the same names over and over.

"Son-of-a-gun" is what the Captain used to enter in a ship's log when a child of unknown paternity was born on a ship. A lot of women, from respectable officers' wives to women who just lived with the men below decks used to be found on Navy ships - I think the Admiralty finally managed to stop Captains allowing them on board sometime in the 19th century. Jack strikes me as a born survivor and this seems like a plausible start in life for him - he just doesn't seem like the classic Captain Blood, gentleman fallen on hard times sort of pirate to me.


	10. Chapter 10: Lies

Chapter 10 - Lies

"I'll go from here" said Mr Turner softly.

The young man was sitting in the stern of one of the _Pearl's_ boats, clad only in shirt and breeches. He leaned forward and kissed his wife softly on the cheek, then slipped easily over the side into the warm dark water. Clouds had covered the waning moon, so Norrington could barely see him as he struck out for Port Royal, heading for the narrow ledge of rock at the base of the cliff where the fort guarded the harbour.

"Are you sure you can manage?" Norrington asked Elizabeth. As an officer he was used to being in a boat that was rowed by others, but not alone at night, when the only rower was another man's wife.

"Of course" Luckily she seemed amused by the question; after a few weeks spent with the touchy Anamaria he belatedly realised that she might have been offended at his doubting her skill.

She was skilled - the oars kept up a smooth steady rhythm, entering and leaving the water with hardly a splash. He fingered the pistol on his lap, straining his eyes in an attempt to penetrate the surrounding darkness.

He saw no one, either on their silent journey to the quay or in the deserted streets of Port Royal itself as they walked to the Fort, Elizabeth staying one pace ahead of him with his pistol pointed steadily at the small of her back. He felt as though thousands of concealed observers were spying from every corner and alley, watching as he violated one of the most sacred points of honour he possessed. To threaten a lady (for he would never allow himself to believe that Elizabeth could be anything else), to demean her in public, was a shame he could barely endure.

They reached a fork in the road - to the left lay their destination the fort, while the street to the right led to the finer part of town and ultimately to the Governor's mansion. Elizabeth to his surprise headed immediately for the right. He supposed she must have forgotten their mission in the excitement of seeing her home. Poor girl - how she must miss the bright lights and refined society of Port Royal, when she was confined in that pestilential hole of a town she was forced to call home.

"Miss Mrs Turner, the other way, if you please" he said softly.

She swung round so quickly that he jumped back in shock. For a moment he let the pistol drop, but she glared at him fiercely until he levelled it again. "When my father hears of this, you will lose your command!" she said loudly.

She was looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to say something. He cast about frantically for words. Talking to women had never come easily to him, and the current situation was well beyond his very limited repertoire of polite small talk.

"Just because I am _your hostage_ you seem to think I can be treated without respect" Elizabeth was now looking at him despairingly. He belatedly realised that this was all part of the show, designed to mislead any observers. And he'd ruined it. The 'hostage' had now done practically everything except take the pistol and hold herself mercilessly at gunpoint. He tried desperately to collect his scattered wits. He was an officer of the King's Royal Navy curse it - not an actor, a swindler or one of her damned pirates. Lying was supposed to be something he despised, not a useful skill he was hopelessly inept at.

"The fort madam, now" he managed at last, gesturing firmly to the left. Perhaps no one had seen them at all, and all Sparrow's claims about spies on the streets were as laughable as they sounded.

* * *

When they arrived at the fort the stout front gate was firmly shut. He gestured with the pistol and Elizabeth knocked. He noted with approval that it was only a few seconds before the observation hatch was opened to allow the guard to inspect the visitors.

The guard was a new man, posted to Port Royal after Elizabeth had left for Tortuga. He squinted through the hatch at the unexpected caller, looking her up and down and grinning in what Norrington considered a highly inappropriate manner. Norrington coughed, in the most intimidating way he could manage. The next moment he heard a loud clatter from behind the door and the face at the hatch turned deathly white. _As though he's seen a ghost - fancy that._

The face disappeared and there followed a brief interlude of clattering and cursing as the guard first retrieved his dropped musket, then struggled with the bolts. Norrington marched into the fort without giving him a second glance, keeping Elizabeth ahead of him, the pistol pointed firmly at her back. Now he was on his home ground he felt far more comfortable with their pretence. Lying was a despicable vice, but to be economical with the truth when called for was a perfectly respectable weapon in any officer's armoury. It was like the difference between cheating at a sport and the application of strategy in battle.

He forced Elizabeth through the passageways to the duty officer's room. As they reached it he saw that the door was open, a golden wedge of lamplight spilling into the dimly lit corridor. He glanced quickly behind him to check that they were unobserved, then leaned forward to tap her briefly on the shoulder. She turned to look at him.

"Who is it?" he mouthed silently, nodding towards the open door. She nodded in response and moved to look. After a moment she returned and stood right beside him, a stray wisp of her hair tickling his cheek as he bent down so that she could whisper to him.

"Gillette" she breathed softly, then stepped back in front of him, so that he could use the pistol again.

Gillette. Norrington considered him for a moment. A fine officer and a good friend. If he could not be trusted, then everything was surely lost. On the other hand, he was a painfully honest soul, every thought and feeling shown to the world. The Commodore had had to speak to the other officers about the unfairness of playing cards with Gillette before they took every penny the poor man had. A man to be trusted, but not perhaps with the truth just yet.

Elizabeth was looking at him again, wondering at the delay probably. He nodded to her in warning, cocked the pistol as quietly as he could and then stepped up behind her and pushed her violently into the room.


	11. Chapter 11: Really, Really Big Lies

Chapter 11 - Really, Really Big Lies

Gillette shot out of his seat as though someone had set his coat tails on fire, a pistol appearing in his hand as if by magic. He might be surprisingly guileless still, but he had learned a great deal in the last few years. His instincts were certainly impeccable - as soon as he had identified Elizabeth and assessed the threat she represented, he swung around to face the door. When Norrington entered the room, he found himself looking at his astonished subordinate's face, and down the barrel of a pistol pointed precisely at his heart.

"Sir!" gasped Gillette, round-eyed with astonishment at his Commodore's sudden entrance. "We feared that is, when _Dauntless_"

"Later," said Norrington wearily. "I need to speak to the officers - all of them. Assemble in the Mess in ten minutes."

Gillette, his face fully of suppressed curiosity, disappeared. As soon as the sound of his footsteps had faded in the corridor Norrington turned to Elizabeth, who was standing in the corner. She was a picture of total dejection, shoulders slumped, head bowed in a way that would have horrified her father, a stickler for correct deportment in young ladies. He moved towards her, ready to apologise for his rough treatment. She shook her head a little and then looked pointedly at the pistol, currently held negligently at his side. He wondered if she always been this focused, or if it was the effect of her new life in Tortuga.

They stood there in uncomfortable silence for a while, surely more like a quarter hour than his specified ten minutes, before Gillette returned to fetch them. 

* * *

Norrington ran an experienced eye over the assembled officers. They seemed quite passable, considering his extended absence, but nonetheless he detected a lack of attention to small details - dull buttons here, a frayed and dirty cuff there, that would doubtless be corrected before he had the leisure to comment on them. He saw no strangers and began to relax - no performance would be required tonight then, and Sparrow, for once at least, was proved wrong.

The crowd shuffled impatiently under his silent gaze and through a momentary gap he caught sight of a new face. The man stood at the back of the group and towards the side of the room - when the Commodore faced forward the stranger would be out of his field of view. It was his home ground. His own fort. Why did Sparrow have to be right _again_?

He swallowed. Twice before in his career he had had to deliver a speech like this - he suspected it would never get any easier. This time, with so many lies to tell, it would be especially hard.

"_Dauntless_ is lost," he said softly - no need to raise his voice to such an attentive audience. "So far as I know, I am the only survivor."

Even in the golden glow of the lamps the sea of faces before him seemed to grow a little paler. They stood absolutely still. He knew what they were doing - making a silent list of their lost comrades, men who had shared wine and played cards with them in this very room. Team mates in the cricket matches they liked to play in the field to while away the long summer evenings. Rivals for the attention of the pretty girls at the Governor's parties. Above all, comrades-in-arms in the ceaseless battles against rum-runners, pirates and foreign privateers. All gone now, lost in the azure waters of the Caribbean, as though they had never been.

He gave them a few moments to absorb the information before he continued.

The first part was easy enough - a truthful account of their fruitless pursuit of the buccaneer and the days they had spent riding out the storm. He tried to keep his voice calm, just as he'd practised, knowing that it would make the lies easier to hide when he reached them.

"I was asleep in my cabin when we were attacked. I still don't know why, or by whom. I managed to get onto the deck and found that she was already listing heavily to starboard, taking on water fast. We launched the boats, but they fired musket volleys at us. I have no idea what happened to the other boats, but I was the only survivor in mine."

"What ship was it?" someone called from the back of the crowd. They had been shifting restlessly, but now stood still again - this was a piece of information that every man wanted to hear. 

"I didn't see the name," he lied. "Too much smoke and I was knocked out soon after we launched the boats. But I'd know her again if I saw her - and her crew wore Navy uniforms."

Now their blood was up. He hoped the spy was feeling threatened. If he pointed the man out now, they would probably hang him, if they didn't simply tear him apart. He stood and waited for the first wave of rage to subside - it took several minutes before they turned back to him ready for the rest of his tale.

"I was washed up on an island, quite off the normal shipping routes. I stayed there alone for six weeks. At first I was weak from my wounds, but there was fresh water and fish in the lagoon once I recovered my strength." That was another lie - by the time he had come out of the fever enough to take care of himself, he had been too weak from hunger to fish or climb trees in search of coconuts. He would have struggled on for a few more days, maybe a week, then probably starved to death surrounded by food he was too enfeebled to gather.

"Morris had a pistol on him, with spare shot and powder. I saved them carefully, in case I had a chance to use them." He raised the pistol a little so they could see it. It was an ordinary English pistol, quite a good one, but nothing special or unusual. He hadn't asked where Jack had got it, but it was just the sort of thing a young officer might have owned.

Now for the hard part. Surely they would never believe this ridiculous idea Sparrow had concocted?

"When I had been on the island for six weeks, _The Black Pearl_ made anchor there to take on water. I hid in the bushes and watched for my chance," he paused and swallowed, nervously. He would never make him believe this. "They they thought they were alone, that it was safe. When Eliz _Mrs Turner_," he stopped again. He should never have agreed to this - he'd always been a terrible liar. The eyes of the assembled officers seemed to bore into him. He was convinced that they hadn't credited a word of the whole story.

"You can't say it, can you, you brute!" he swung round in surprise. Elizabeth had roused herself from the corner and now moved into the light. She leaned forward a little, pointing at him with an accusing finger. "He held me hostage at gun point to force my husband and Jack Sparrow to co-operate." He started to hope that she wouldn't overdo things. Elizabeth had lost none of her charm since she married and his men might not take too kindly to this unchivalrous deed against a lady that many of them had admired from a distance. "For _two weeks_ he hasn't let me leave his side."

"When my father finds out what you've done"

* * *

Author's Notes: I couldn't resist the idea of poor old Norrington standing up in front of an audience and trying to spin them a yarn, Jack Sparrow-style. I didn't think he'd manage it though, which is why Elizabeth has to step in and rescue him at the end.

Huge thanks for your reviews - they have been very encouraging. This is the first time I've tried writing something long in sections like this and I'm determined to finish it! I want to know exactly what happens for a start... I've learned a lot doing it too.

There's going to be a bit of a pause in the updating, because I'm going on holiday for a week. No computers! I will try to get some writing done though, on old-fashioned paper, so hopefully there will be some quick updates when I get back.

P.S. In honour of International Talk Like a Pirate Day... _Arr, me hearties - take care o' ye selves till next I see ye!_ Sorry, couldn't resist :-)


	12. Chapter 12: Sleight of Hand

Chapter 12 - Sleight of Hand

"Mrs Turner and I will return to the _Black Pearl_ tonight," he said. His officers looked at him in surprise.

"I will take her back to the area where _Dauntless_ was attacked - hopefully a notorious pirate vessel will arouse no suspicion. Once I have determined the identity of the ship that betrayed us, I will return here and send a formal despatch to the Admiralty, asking for whatever assistance is necessary to make the arrests and bring charges. Dismissed, gentlemen."

Most of the men left at once, probably heading for private spots around the fort to gossip with their cronies and lay hopeless plans for avenging their lost friends. A few remained, gathered into small groups and talking quietly amongst themselves. None of them seemed inclined to approach and ask questions. _Thank God_. Elizabeth had subsided into her corner and was apparently sulking there in a most unladylike fashion - he felt another pang of guilt at involving her in this ridiculous charade. After a couple of attempts, he succeeded in catching Gillette's eye and beckoned him over.

"I need a few items from my rooms," he said. "And I have some special orders for you, if you would accompany us." He gestured a little with the pistol and Elizabeth rose from the chair that she had been slouching in and moved ahead of them into the passage. The other officers in the mess were so engrossed in their speculations that he didn't think anyone saw them leave.

His rooms were only a few yards from the mess. Nothing seemed to have been touched in his absence. As soon as the door was bolted behind them he uncocked the pistol and tossed the hateful thing into a chair. Gillette stared at him in astonishment.

"It's only us," said Elizabeth and was rewarded a moment later with the sight of her husband, who appeared from the adjoining room, his clothes still sopping wet from his swim.

"No one saw you?" enquired Norrington.

"No. Once I scaled the cliff, slipping over the wall was no trouble."

"I'll have to double the guard on the seaward side," Norrington said, refusing to allow even a hint of a smile to touch his features. Mr Turner only grinned mischievously by way of reply.

"Please sit down and I'll fetch the clothes," said Norrington, motioning Mr Turner towards a plain but comfortable wooden chair. As he had hoped, Mr Turner moved off the rather expensive rug that he had been dripping on (one of his mother's nicer gifts) and sat down. Elizabeth, quite unconsciously it seemed, moved to stand behind him and rested one hand gently against his cheek.

Ignoring the small pang of regret he felt at the sight, Norrington went to his bedroom. In a few moments he had gathered all the garments which made up his uniform, from buckled shoes and woollen stockings to powdered wig. Hopefully he would get them back one day - he had lost a lot of clothes in the wreck of the _Dauntless_ and his tailor's bill for the year was going to be uncomfortably high. He returned with the pile of clothes and stood in the doorway, looking expectantly at Elizabeth and waiting courteously for her to leave. Instead of moving she looked at him with a puzzled expression.

Obviously the strain had got to her at last and she had forgotten this part of the plan. It was inevitable he supposed, but she had held up remarkably well, for a woman. "Perhaps you would care to wait in the next room Elizabeth?" he reminded her gently.

"Why?" she asked.

He looked down at the pile of clothes in his arms and then at Mr Turner.

"But we're _married_," she said, the slightest hint of a giggle in her voice. "I assure you Commodore, I will not be shocked."

He gave up. The deplorable company that she kept had clearly wrung every scrap of decency out of her. For the first time he found himself wondering whether she had ever really had any sense of propriety to lose.

It was quite a struggle to fit Mr Turner into the Commodore's uniform - the blacksmith had much broader shoulders, which made the coat far too tight, but was also a full two inches shorter, which meant that the sleeves and breeches were too long. In the end Elizabeth and Norrington had to strain to button the jacket when Turner breathed out, then fling a cloak over the top to try to hide the most obvious deficiencies in the disguise.

Once they had finished, Mr Turner was rather red in the face. "I'm beginning to see why you hate corsets so much," he confided to his wife, who grinned back at him.

Gillette had stood and watched their preparations in silence from the corner by the door. Once he was satisfied that the blacksmith's disguise was as complete as it could be, Norrington turned to his hopelessly bemused junior.

"I'm not going back to the _Black Pearl_ tonight. Mr Turner here will go in my stead, with his wife."

"So, they aren't really your prisoners?" Gillette asked. He seemed a little less regretful than was proper, whether this was out of some lingering infatuation with Elizabeth, or from a fascination with Sparrow's infernal charisma, Norrington couldn't tell.

"I'm afraid not, Sparrow and his crew found me starving on the island and rescued me. The rest of my tale was mostly true, except for one thing," his voice had dropped almost to a whisper. Some things seemed dangerous to speak aloud, even among allies in a locked room. "I saw the name of the ship that attacked us. It was _Vigilance_ - Captain Hollowell."

Gillette looked horrified. "Sir, one of Hollowell's officers"

"Is here, I know - we were expecting that. A lieutenant, brown hair, fairly tall - I saw him when I spoke to the men in the mess."

"I'll have him arrested at once!" Gillette moved towards the door determinedly. He had lost more than one close friend to Hollowell's treachery.

"No," Norrington said as he reached out and grabbed the younger man's arm. "Tomorrow he will leave, probably on the morning tide. We _must _let him go."

"But why?"

"So that he can tell Hollowell that there was a witness who survived the attack on _Dauntless_. A witness who will be on the _Black Pearl_, deep in their own territory. Hollowell can't risk me arousing the interest of the Admiralty in his little game."

"He'll attack the _Pearl_? Sir she'll be hopelessly outgunned, even more than _Dauntless_. Sparrow and his crew won't stand a chance!" Gillette looked horrified by the plan, very much as Norrington had been when Sparrow had first proposed it. Elizabeth would be on the _Pearl _- she had steadfastly resisted every argument he had made to try to persuade her to stay with her father in Port Royal.

"Sparrow seems quite confident," now _that_ was a gross understatement, but then Sparrow was ludicrously convinced of his ability to surmount every obstacle life threw in his path. So far, to the Commodore's great frustration, the weight of evidence was alarmingly in the pirate's favour on the issue.

"What do you need me to do?" Gillette asked. He was starting to calm down a bit on the surface, but the set of his jaw and the stiffness of his spine betrayed his underlying agitation.

"Assemble an escort - at least six men, fully armed. You must take Mr and Mrs Turner down to the docks. Stay there long enough once they have cast off to make sure that no one can follow them. None of the men, or the guards at the gate must see Mr Turner's face."

"Will you make yourself known when that _traitor_ has gone?" Gillette asked. Norrington nodded.

Gillette unbolted the door and slipped out. A mere five minutes later he was back with the escort party and knocked softly on the door.

Norrington looked gravely at the Turners. He shook Will's hand, then after a moment's hesitation took Elizabeth's hand and kissed it. "Good luck," he said. There really didn't seem to be anything helpful he could say under the circumstances.

He handed Mr Turner the damned pistol, glad to finally see the back of the thing. Mr Turner tugged the hat low over his eyes, then tilted his head so that his face was in shadow and partially concealed by the high collar of the cloak. A moment later he and Elizabeth were gone, heading off to rejoin that bloody pirate and his crew of drunken lunatics. Norrington hoped desperately that the _Pearl_ would make it back safe to Tortuga after the encounter with Hollowell.

Worried as he was, his own wonderful _familiar_ bed beckoned. Within ten minutes of the Turners' departure the Commodore had settled down for the first decent night's sleep he had had in months. 

* * *

Author's Notes:

Sorry it's a bit later than I hoped - it was a very busy holiday! On a piratical note, I did get to see the place that Arthur Ransome used as the basis for Wildcat Island in _Swallows and Amazons_. Well, it was a huge thrill for me, anyway!

Thank you very much, all those who have reviewed - it is so encouraging to know that people are reading this (and hopefully getting some fun out of it).


	13. Chapter 13 Setting the Trap

Chapter 13 - Setting the Trap

Jack squinted as the low morning sun sparkled off the water. He was in one of the _Pearl's_ boats, scouting out the shoals, rocks and reefs in Hollowell's meeting place. No sense risking the _Pearl _herself until he had to - the last thing they needed was to have _Vigilance_ arrive to find them stuck fast in the shallows. A good naval man, like Norrington, would have done this job with charts, carefully marked up with depth soundings and notes on the currents. Jack reckoned to hold it all in his head. It wasn't that he couldn't read a naval chart - he'd paid a cashiered Lieutenant to teach him years ago. But figuring out a chart was slow work, more suited to planning an ambush on a navy-defended town say, than for trying to outmanoeuvre a ship that had him massively outgunned on its own territory.

Hollowell liked to meet his buccaneers in a nasty little archipelago of coral islets a few leagues off the main shipping route through his area. It had been clearly marked on all the charts for years as a place to be avoided - a seamount came close to the surface, providing a base for a treacherous series of reefs, just lying in wait to tear the bottom out of any ship whose captain was fool enough to venture in. It was a tribute to the skill of Norrington and his lost crew that they had managed to navigate _Dauntless _in there without mishap. Of course, it was rather less impressive that they hadn't wondered why_ Vigilance_ was lurking in such a hellish spot before they sailed cheerily up and got a belly-full of cannon-shot.

He stared down into the depths, trying to ignore the tricky reflections. Could this be it? He had spent three days searching the area so far, with no luck in finding a channel that could be used to bring a ship the size of _Vigilance_ into the spot that Norrington had described - sheltered in the curve of one of the larger islets.

_Only one way to find out for sure. _He sat up and stretched, joints cracking after so long hunched over the prow of the little boat. He turned to face Gibbs and Cotton. "I'm going down to take a look".

Gibbs gaped back at him, appalled. "Down there? It's fearful bad..." Jack glared at him and he tailed off. The only things that Gibbs didn't consider 'fearful bad luck', in Jack's experience, were drink, easy money and women of easy virtue. Of course even the women were only good fortune when ashore, though drink and cash seemed to be held lucky pretty much anywhere.

"Shut up for once and hold this position. I'll be but a moment." Jack ordered as he stripped off his coat and boots. Most seamen couldn't swim and were desperately afraid of drowning if they got more than a foot wet, so he took pride in his unusual skill in the water. He'd had fun learning too, from a sweet young lass who dived for pearls down Honduras-way. He slipped easily over the side, took a deep breath and plunged below the surface of the warm, clear water. He swam strongly to the spot he'd noticed from the surface - a place where a great sea fan protruded into the main channel. A quick look confirmed that numerous branches on the channel side had been broken off. He returned to the surface for another breath.

His next couple of dives established that a large ship regularly used the passage, scraping her sides at odd points without ever hitting an obstacle large enough to place her hull in danger. Jack surfaced again and stretched out a hand so Gibbs could haul him back into the boat. "This is it - Hollowell's channel" he said.

Half an hour later the sun had dried him off, leaving a silky layer of salt on his skin. Jack stood beside Anamaria as she steered the _Pearl_ through the channel. They crept through as slowly as they could, lest a misjudgement land them on the reefs. Everyone on board was up on deck, either scanning the channel ahead for rocks or looking for landmarks on the surrounding islets to steer by. With a light breeze and only the tiniest scrap of sail it seemed to take them hours to reach the little bay that Hollowell favoured for his rendez-vous. The channel seemed to be horribly straight once you knew where to find it thought Jack. Damned wide too, and there was no chance of blockading it - he needed every scrap of powder he could get for the fight ahead, so none could be spared for an attempt at blasting a part of the reef.

With a hard battle ahead of them the crew were as tense and jittery as a sack full of cats. Jack kept them busy the rest of the afternoon, lots of little jobs, each done by a couple of people. No chance to sit and brood alone, or to gather and gossip. He trusted this crew more than any he'd led before, but even so he would never forget the lesson he'd had from Barbossa. Pirates nowadays didn't go in for big battles - a quick raid and an even quicker escape was their choice every time. Things had come a long way since the glory days of the privateers who had His Majesty's license to prey on foreign ships. The good thing was that most of the lads had never seen a ship the size of _Vigilance _close to, let alone fought one. Only Gibbs had Navy service behind him, and for all his drinking and gabbling about luck he was as brave a man who had ever breathed.

He had finished an inspection of the progress being made by the crew and stopped for a while to lean against the rail. He couldn't help staring at the horizon, checking for any sign of _Vigilance_. Nothing was in sight, yet.

A shadow fell across the rail. He glanced up to see Anamaria at his shoulder.

"How long?" she asked, pitching her voice soft so that none of the crew would hear.

"Not tonight, for certain - he'd never risk the reef in the dark. He'll be here sometime tomorrow I reckon" he replied.

Anamaria nodded. "Time enough for us to get clear then?"

In all the years he'd known her Jack had never seen Anamaria shrink from a fight. It had cost her dear to ask that.

"No point love" he said gently. He'd been a proper captain all day (bloody Norrington would have been surprised). No nonsense, no favours for anybody. But somehow he couldn't resist reaching out and taking her hand in his. Not like anyone would see anyway, not if they were working like they should be.

"Why not leave? It's Norrington's fight, not ours. Why are you so keen to die for that fool?"

"Our fight too darlin'. Hollowell was spreading his little tale of us sinking the _Dauntless_ afore he ever knew the Dear Commodore had made it out alive. He's been after us for a while now savvy?"

She sighed and nodded again. "So what do we do now we're here?"

Defeat seemed to be stamped on her very bones as she stood in front of him, face grave and shoulders slumped. If he couldn't convince her, what hope with the rest of the crew?

He put his hands together and flashed her his very best gold-toothed grin.

"I'm Captain Jack Sparrow love. Barbossa and his whole pack of undead scallywags couldn't beat me. You think I'm afraid of the bloody Navy?"

"Us," said Anamaria firmly.

"What, love?"

"Couldn't beat _us_, Jack" she said, showing a bit of her normal spirit. If only he could fan that flame, then maybe...

"True darling," time for some proper swaggering now, "you were all a great help to me."

She laughed, then leaned forward and brushed her lips against his, something she rarely did in front of the crew.

"You're daft, but I believe you."

"Good. Now that's settled, lets broach a barrel of rum for the lads and let them relax a bit." He'd kept the crew on short rations of rum these last couple of days, even Gibbs. Let loose at a keg now, they'd be so drunk as to forget their troubles for a few hours. Jack himself had other plans - life had been busy lately, with too little time spent tucked away in his cabin with Anamaria. Women always fell for talk about it maybe being the last chance and the terrible risks that tomorrow would bring.


	14. Chapter 14 Letters from Home

Chapter 14 - Letters from Home

Norrington sighed and leaned back in his chair for a moment. In front of him on the desk was a huge stack of official documents, including his formal account of the recent events concerning the loss of the _Dauntless_ and the loathsome treachery of Hollowell and his crew. There were three copies of the report, each of them would be despatched to the Admiralty by a separate route. He had sent the first two already - the third would be left at a small Naval outpost they should reach by first light. Whatever happened over the next few days, he was determined that the monsters who had murdered so many of his comrades would face the full might of Naval justice.

He had done his duty. Made his reports, filled out the log - page after page of deaths. Written letters to parents, wives and siblings "_Dear --- , I am sorry to have to inform you... a gallant and courageous sailor... loss will be most deeply felt_".

Now for his last task.

He leaned over and picked up the little stack of letters from the corner of his desk. Gillette had kept them separate from all his other mail, carefully tied up with a white silk ribbon. For a moment he just held them, looking at the carefully written direction on the top letter. The brown ink had faded a little - it was a full four months old, but the even, elegant handwriting was wonderfully familiar. In spite of the gentle rocking motion of the ship, for a moment he almost fancied himself at home. She liked to write her letters at a little bureau in the front parlour, where she could look of the window and see the children playing on the village green. At this season, perhaps they would be making little boats with carved wooden hulls and sails of waxed paper to sail on the pond, just as he had done.

Gently he teased apart the knot in the ribbon and then broke the wafer sealing the first letter.

_"Dear James,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. We are all most busy at the moment with preparations for Louisa's wedding. I wish you could see her my dear, she is quite the most radiant affianced bride I believe I have ever seen. I know that Matthew will make her happy and it is a source of great joy to myself and your father that at last we will have one of our children settled within a comfortable distance. _

_I only hope that one day you may secure such happiness for yourself. Surely there are some young ladies of quality in Port Royal?"_

He had never mentioned Elizabeth to his mother - some kindly angel had stopped him from including his hopes of her in his letters home. He had been jilted before the whole of Port Royal, which was bad enough - a torrent of sympathy from his family would probably have been too much to bear. The rest of the letter was a long, rambling and affectionate account of the activities of his large and industrious family, from his smallest niece "_Such a delightful child, everyone remarks on how charmingly she smiles. And to be crawling so energetically at such a young age is truly remarkable, Doctor Croyde tells us"_ to his eldest brother, firmly established in the Diplomatic service _"The ambassador wrote us a most courteous letter to congratulate us on William's promotion - he says he finds your brother quite indispensable"_.

The next letter was much like the first. Louisa's wedding had been a triumph, with his father's sermon being very well received and the groom's family proving to be a most well-bred and welcoming set of people. The only trouble had been due to his mischievous nephew Daniel, an enterprising twelve year old whose natural curiosity had led him to a disastrous encounter with an unattended bottle of Port wine, which he had consumed it its entirety behind the summerhouse. All, of course, accompanied by more gentle hints about the joys of the married state - that aspect of his mother's correspondence never changed.

After that, the letters began to get shorter and the cheerful stream of news began to seem more forced, with less and less of the trivial details that always made his mother's letters such a vivid reminder of home.

_"Dear James,_

_I hope you are well, I know you must be terribly busy..._"

_"Dear James,_

_I hope you are well. It seems an age since your last letter - perhaps a mail-ship has been delayed..._"

She had kept on writing, one letter every week, with the kind of iron-willed determination that every good vicar's wife needed to have. He imagined her sitting at the little bureau to write, with much the same sense of duty that had seen her help her fellow parishioners through storms, floods, poor harvests and epidemics. The last letter was just a couple of lines - hardly worth the cost of the postage, which had always taken a terrible portion of her tiny amount of pin-money.

"_Dear James,_

_It has now been so long since your last letter that I know some harm must have befallen you. Your father and I are praying for your safe deliverance._

_With all my love and prayers_

_Mama_"

Norrington put down that last letter and wiped his eyes. He sat for a moment to gather his thoughts, before pulling a clean sheet of paper towards him. This letter would go off with the same mail-ship that took his report to the Admiralty. Hopefully, it would have a speedy voyage.

_"Dear Mama,_

_I must assure you that as I write this letter I am safe and well in my own cabin aboard Valiant. I have been unable to write to you in recent weeks, by reason of the tragic events that I must now convey to you..._"

He had spent a lot of time thinking about this letter, since Sparrow had rescued him from that infernal island. He tried to keep his account as brief as possible, skimming over the massacre and barely describing the horrors of his journey to the island. He thought that he managed to make his time on the island sound positively enjoyable, a romantic tale of a castaway who was happily rescued and returned to civilisation before he had the chance to suffer any fate worse than sunburn. It would do no good to cause her any more distress. Sparrow and his crew became loveable rogues, a gaggle of merry lads out for a spree - to Norrington's slight annoyance, this was the easiest part of the letter to write.

He broke off his account at the point where the _Pearl _had returned to Tortuga - let them think he had made his way back to his command on a respectable vessel. This spared him the necessity of describing the ridiculous play-acting with Elizabeth and the pistol. It also meant that he had no need to mention that he was currently setting out to attack a fully-manned Royal Navy fort that was possibly defended by a first-rate ship of the line. _Valiant_ was built more for speed than fighting strength - with less than half the guns of _Vigilance_ she would stand even less of a chance than poor _Dauntless _had if Hollowell had not taken the bait and gone off to attack the _Black Pearl_.

* * *

Author's Notes

Well I gave Jack a back story a few chapters ago, so I thought poor old Norrington deserved one as well. The Navy would be quite a likely career for the younger son of a respectable country vicar - with plenty of opportunities for an ambitious man to advance.

Thank you so much for your reviews. I'm really sorry this story had such a huge gap in updates between chapter 12 and 13. Life has been a bit grim for a lot of my nearest and dearest over the last few months, so I've mostly been sat in a corner feeling sorry for myself. Hopefully the next chapter will be along shortly!


End file.
